


Cassandra

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Confessions, Conversations, Curses, Hex Bags (Supernatural), Jealousy, Love Confessions, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Truth, Truth Spells, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 10:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Rowena's horrible day gets even worse when everyone in the Bunker suddenly starts confessing things to her.





	Cassandra

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by Joe Hill's book Horns.

Rowena was having a horrible day.

First, Sam had called her — because of course he had — begging for help yet again, and she, the redeemed fool, agreed to meet up with him and the rest of his little entourage as soon as she could without a single sound of displeasure she clearly felt. She did roll her eyes, quite epically if she dare say so herself, and mumble a few Scottish things you didn't understand, but she still packed her necessities and, with you in tow (the two of you were a package deal. If the Winchesters wanted one, they had to deal with the other. Those were the rules), headed for the Bunker.

Then, once they'd all established they were dealing with a particularly nasty witch, Rowena stupidly accompanied the boys and their pet angel and nephilim and had nearly gotten herself cursed. Jack had blasted the witch with his power just in time, preventing her from finishing the curse. She had used the commotion to get away, but the good news was, Rowena was okay. Even you, ever the worrier, could see that.

Hours later, when you and Rowena, through joint effort, managed to locate the witch (she was good at cloaking her location, but not good enough for one of the most powerful witches in the world and the witch who'd meticulously studied under her for four years), Rowena had cleverly elected to remain in the Bunker while the hunters dealt with her. You happily supported her decision. After all, if she stayed far, far away from the fight, tucked inside one of the safest, most warded places around, you didn't have to worry. It was a win-win for everyone, including Sam and Dean. They preferred to do their job the old-fashioned way. And plus, Sam had been giving her odd glances ever since she'd been attacked earlier. It was better to stay out of their way and protect her arse in the process.

Just when she thought she'd finally - _finally! —_ caught a break, something had to pop up to prove her otherwise, because of bloody course it did.

Rowena was in the library, head buried in a grimoire she'd recently acquired at an auction. The bloody thing had cost her dearly, and from what she'd seen so far, it was worth every penny. Money well spent, no matter how loudly — annoyingly, really — you disagreed. She'd originally intended to leave the book at home, but had changed her mind at the last minute. One could never be certain when boredom would strike, and it was best to be prepared. A smart decision, in hindsight. Then again, that was what every — alright, almost every — decision of hers was.

While she was busy going over new spells, you were up in the temporary bedroom the Winchesters lent the two of you, watching some no doubt trashy movie on your laptop. Rowena didn't particularly care what you were doing. You weren't pestering her, weren't leaning over her, as you tended to do at times, pointing at random spells in languages you didn't understand, and asking what each one was for. You'd given her peace to study her new toy thoroughly, and for that she made a mental note to reward you later. She already had a few things she knew you'd like in mind.

Rowena's precious peace shattered as soon as the door to the Bunker swung open and the Winchesters and their angels walked in in their loud, laughing, talking glory.

Much to her relief, though, after an exchange of greetings and a relay of news that the evil witch was finally dead, the boys had enough decency to quiet down and scurry elsewhere, each to their respective corner of the Bunker.

Rowena returned to her book, hoping for at least half an hour more of peace, when Dean walked into the library. She paid him no mind, concentrated fully on a particularly complicated spell in Gaelic, scanning the words, absorbing them to the best of her ability. If she ignored it, it would go away. At the very least she hoped so.

It — he — stayed. And stared at her. Obviously so; she could feel his eyes burning into her head, gaze sharp as blades, intent, insistent.

Rowena pretended not to notice. If he wanted something, he could very well ask. He was a big boy. She didn't need to hold his hand and patiently get the words out of his mouth.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, Dean said, "Rowena, can I ask you something?"

Rowena raised an eyebrow, curious, but kept her eyes on the old, yellowed page of the grimoire. "Sure."

"If-if a dude likes another dude — like _likes_ likes him — does-does that make him gay?"

She looked at him as if he'd just admitted to killing you (that, at least, would have been a valid reason for wasting her time). Why was he asking her that? Out of everyone in the Bunker, what made him think she was the appropriate person to ask that question?

Dean was smiling nervously. Stupidly. He looked like he wanted to be everywhere but here.

Good. That made two of them.

"Yes," Rowena replied without missing a beat, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, if you weren't an idiot.

Dean shifted his feet uncomfortably. "What if that dude's usually into chicks?"

"That would make him bisexual," she told him.

Whatever game he was playing — whatever bet he and the boys made — she wanted no part in it. She was about to say so when he, with the grace of a clumsy cat that had just fallen into a tub filled to the brim with water, spoke up again.

"Okay, but what if he's _only_ into chicks, and there's just this _one_ guy he really likes?"

"Maybe he's bi-curious," Rowena said, tone firm, curt, to the point. A clear indicative that she did not want to participate in this conversation, and if he didn't leave her alone anytime soon, she would get nasty and very, very Scottish.

If Dean picked up on it, he didn't show it. He looked around for a few moments, lost in thought, then his eyes fell back on Rowena and, in the tone of a child in a sweetie shop, he said, "Dr. Sexy did a photoshoot for Busty Asian Beauties."

Rowena blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, bewildered.

"I don't know," Dean replied, just as confused. His brows furrowed in thought. "Why _am_ I telling you this?"

With a deep, hard sigh, Rowena buried her head in her hands. She slammed her book shut; no use studying it now, after this… whatever this was. A conversation? Confession? Heart-to-heart? The thought sent a shudder through her, stomach twisting with disgust.

Whatever it was, she didn't want to be having it, and she certainly didn't want to be having it with Dean.

A cup of tea. That was what she needed. A good, fresh, steaming cup of tea to get her mind off the Winchester's problems, if one might call them that.

Rowena stood up; she threw a glance to the book, wondering if she should take it with her and, a whole second later, deciding against it. She headed for the kitchen, leaving the confused, conflicted Dean alone to his thoughts. Charles knew he needed some of those.

"Bloody bampot," she muttered on her way out.

If he heard her, Dean gave no response.

As soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen, a nice, appealing aroma filled her nostrils. Sam was making dinner. Some kind of meat, sweet, juicy, no doubt as delicious as that from her favorite restaurant. Rowena's stomach grumbled, an automatic response to the new sensations. She remembered she hadn't eaten yet; so focused on the grimoire, she'd forgotten to. She could use some sustenance.

"Hey," Sam greeted, smile wide on his mouth, warm and friendly as always.

Rowena returned it just as brightly. "Hey, Samuel. Mind telling me where the teapot is?"

"Right there." He pointed to a cupboard to his right. "You guys, uh, gonna stay for dinner?"

"We might as well."

The trip home would be hours long. Best eat now than stop somewhere along the way, in the middle of nowhere. Rowena shuddered as her mind flashed to a few diners — and she was using that word generously — the two of you had stopped at on your various travels. The last time you'd brought her to one of those places she'd spotted a rat she could've sworn was the size of a chihuahua. Ever since then she had a strict no-roadside-diner rule. No matter how much you pleaded and whined, she wasn't stepping foot in one of those places. Even if her stomach screamed and snarled and begged for food, and you nagged at her like you sometimes tended to do, her decision was final.

"Can I tell you something?" Sam asked.

"Go ahead," Rowena replied, teapot in hand, looking through the cupboards for the tea. The Winchesters may have eaten and drank unhealthy (one of them did, at least), but they had decent tea. Not as good as her own (imported straight from Scotland, of course), but drinkable.

"I-every time we see each other, I'm scared I'll kill you," Sam said after a moment of uncertainty.

"Having murder fantasies about me, Samuel?" she teased in an attempt to lighten the suddenly somber mood.

She would be lying if she said the thought that she might die hadn't occurred to her every time they met up, but it was never something she paid too much attention to. Sam was going to kill her — it was fact, it was fate, and overthinking it would do nothing but make her depressed. Why hurt herself over and over again with thoughts of something she had no control over?

Besides, for all she knew, fate might have been changed. Sam had said he'd try to do so, and Rowena had promised herself the same thing.

And if it hadn't — well, then she was going to go. No point in dwelling on the bad when she could be living her life to the fullest. Living her life with _you._ She owed it to you to never give up, to keep going forward, and that was what she was doing. She didn't want to leave you any more than you wanted to lose her. If it happened, you would both have to accept it.

"No," Sam said and shook his head, outraged at the prospect. "I just… I'm scared there'll be an accident or something, and you'll get hurt."

Rowena had to chuckle. "I'm a big girl. I can take a bit of hurt." If she could survive Lucifer, twice, then she could survive a wee accident.

"I know that. I guess I just don't want to be the cause of it. Because…" Sam swallowed, cheeks burning a bright, hot red. For such a giant man, he suddenly looked so small. Almost, dare she say, vulnerable. "I care about you. A lot."

"Oh," was the only thing Rowena could utter. Was this one of the Winchesters' pep talks? One of those conversations where she would officially be declared their friend and a member of the family, and then they'd all share bro hugs and sip beer together?

How was she supposed to respond to that? As much as she hated to admit it, she considered Sam a friend, and she cared dearly about him and Dean and their feather friend and nephilim son. She'd said yes to Michael for them. She tried to tell herself it was for you, but she knew well enough it was more than that. She didn't want you to get hurt, yes, but she didn't want them to get hurt, either. She wanted to protect all of you.

"A whole lot," Sam added after a moment of silence.

"I suppose I… care about you, too," Rowena said carefully, the words falling from her tongue with unease. It took a lot out of her to say it out loud, to admit she cared to someone who wasn't you. You made it look so easy. Maybe because you fell for her first, loved her first, trusted her before anyone dared even call her an acquaintance, let alone a friend. She knew she could tell you everything, knew she could bare her soul to you without judgment.

Other people? She'd spent so many centuries manipulating them that she still sometimes struggled being nice to them. It would take a while for her to be comfortable to feel around them.

Sam's smile widened, stretching from ear to ear, white teeth flashing. "I love you."

Wait, what?

Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Beg pardon?"

A polite way of saying what was actually on her mind, which was, _What in bloody fucking hell?!_

"I feel like I can be myself around you. I don't have to pretend that everything's okay. You understand that it's not," he explained, looking strangely relieved. As if a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders as soon as those words left his mouth. "Even when I don't say anything, you just know. You know what it's like to be hurt. You know that it doesn't go away. Even Dean doesn't. He thinks he does, but he has no idea. But you — you understand, Rowena. You've been there. You and I are the only ones who know what it's like, and I feel like that makes this — us — special."

Rowena was flabbergasted. "Wha—"

"I know you're with Y/N," Sam said before she could finish her sentence, though what she was going to say, she didn't know. "I don't want to get between the two of you. I can see how happy she makes you, and how happy you make her, and I would never do anything to break you guys up. I just wanted you to know how I feel."

Rowena stared. Blinked. Gulped. Breathed in and out in deep, hard gulps that hurt her throat.

"Why?" she uttered, voice a whisper, a quiet, little lilt. Her eyes met Sam's sad puppy ones, the look in them strong, determined. Angry around the edges. "Why did you tell me that?"

"I wanted you to know," Sam said nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why did you want me to know?" she demanded.

She didn't want to know. She didn't want to know any of it. How was she supposed to be around him now, when she knew how he really felt? Why did he think it was okay to burden her with this knowledge? What would you say when you found out (and you _would_ find out. She had no intention of keeping this a secret)?

What had gotten into this intelligent man's head to make him so bloody stupid?

"I don't know," Sam said. He narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. "I never wanted you to find out about this, but then I suddenly did."

Rowena was mad, but one look at his face, and some of her anger subsided. He was honest. He genuinely didn't know why he told her.

Come to think of it, Dean didn't know why he was asking her those questions, either.

Was something going on? Had that witch cursed them? Had they ingested some kind of truth potion?

"Samuel," Rowena said with as much patience as she could muster, "when you were at that witch's house, did you have anything to drink?"

"No," Sam said, baffled by the question. "We just got in and killed her. Why?"

She ignored the question. "Did she cast any spells?"

"She tried to, but we killed her before she could do anything." He cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "What's this about?"

"Something is very, very wrong," Rowena commented, more to herself than to him.

She slammed the teapot on the counter with a bang, startling him, but he quickly regained his composure.

"What do you mean?"

"Let me consult Y/N, then I'll get back to you. You stay here and keep working on dinner."

"Okay," Sam said, uncertain.

"I mean it. Stay!" She raised up a forefinger in emphasis.

"I'm staying."

"Good."

Rowena ran out and hurried up the stairs. Thankfully, she managed to avoid Dean. She'd had enough of confessions for one evening.

Before she could reach her bedroom, however, Jack walk up to her with a big, boyish smile on his face and, in a tone that was as cheerful as his his expression, said, "Hi, Rowena."

"Hi, Jack," she greeted, returning the smile.

The nephilim looked around, suddenly nervous, almost paranoid. "Can we talk?" he whispered, leaning down to her level.

"I would love to, but I'm in a wee bit of hurry," she told him.

"Please?"

He gave her the puppy eyes, and just like that all her defenses were down. She could never resist puppy eyes, especially those of children.

"Alright, but be quick," she allowed. She supposed the curse could wait a few moments. It wasn't like it would kill the boys. Hopefully.

"I stole Dean's magazine," he said.

Rowena blinked.

When she didn't say anything, he elaborated in a hushed tone, "Busty Asian Beauties. The one with the, um, _undressed_ women."

Rowena was too flabbergasted to respond.

"They're, um, nak—"

"I know what _undressed_ means!" she said a tad too harshly than she intended. He flinched as if struck, shocked by her outburst, and she cleared her throat. Must not lose it. Not in front of a child. A child who'd read porn, but nonetheless a child. Curling her lips into a smile that was too sugary sweet to be genuine, Rowena said, "Jack, why did you do that?"

"I wanted to see what it was like," Jack said innocently. He grinned like a child in a sweetie store. "And I liked it!"

"Okay!"

Rowena's hand shot up, palm outwards, a stop sign. She did not need to hear this. She did not want to hear this, just like she hadn't wanted to hear about Dean's confusion about his sexuality and Sam's feelings towards her. She wanted nothing to do with any of it.

That witch must have been more powerful than she'd thought, when she'd managed to curse Jack. The Winchesters were one thing, but a nephilim… That required a grand amount of power.

"I liked it a lot!" Jack added.

"I get it, Jack," Rowena told him. "You don't have to explain."

The nephilim's face fell. "Do you think it's bad? Do you think _I'm_ bad?"

"No," she said. "Of course not. You're a good boy, Jack. Why don't you go back to your room and… flip through the magazine one more time?"

His face lit up again. "You think I should?"

"Aye. And make sure to lock the door, okay? You don't want Dean getting wind of this, do you?"

"No. I'll lock the door."

"Excellent! Off you go, darling boy! Have a lovely evening!"

"Thanks, Rowena!" Jack said happily.

"Anytime, Jack," she said, breathing out in relief as the lock to his door clicked.

"Hey, Rowena," Castiel said, emerging from his own room.

Bloody hell! "Whatever it is, feathers, save it!"

"But—" the angel tried, only to be curtly, rudely cut off.

"Not a bloody word!" Rowena snapped, shooting him a glare that had killed before, forefinger up in warning.

She'd had enough of confessions. She had to put an end to this before she ended up hearing something everyone in the Bunker would regret — though whatever she might hear couldn't be worse than what Sam had told her. Attraction to actors and pornographic magazines were one thing; excellent teasing material, but harmless in the long run. A love confession, on the other hand…

How was she supposed to act around Sam now? How was she supposed to _be_ around him when she knew that every smile he gave her, every kind word, every joke and laugh came from love rather than friendship?

She stormed into her room and slammed the door shut behind her, practically in Castiel's face. You were on the bed, laptop right in front of you, eyes glued to the screen. Upon her violent entrance, you let out a startled yelp and shot her a look that told her, wordlessly yet loudly, that you were not amused. You were not in the mood for her temper tantrums.

Well, she wasn't in the mood for yours, either, and besides, this wasn't a temper tantrum. You would be bloody pissed, too, if you'd basically been treated like a therapist by people who most definitely should not have treated her as such.

"Y/N, there's something wrong with the Winchesters," Rowena said, straight to the point. No use dancing around the issue. The sooner it got sorted out, the better.

"Besides the obvious?" you snarked.

She rolled her eyes. Now was not the time for quips. "I think they've been cursed."

You laughed. "Finally lost it, have you? Took you long enough. I've been telling you those guys are pricks, but you never listen."

"It wasn't me — it was that witch!" Rowena exclaimed. If she wanted to curse the Winchesters, she sure as hell would not have made them confess grotesque things to her. She was no masochist, not to that extent.

You sighed, face growing serious. "Why do you think they're cursed?"

"They've been telling me things." Her face scrunched up with displeasure. "Disgusting, repugnant things."

You looked at her with confusion for a moment, then said in a tone that was too nonchalant for the situation at hand, "Speaking of, I need to tell you something."

"Can't it wait?" Rowena said in a tone that made it clear it should wait.

"No."

She rubbed her temples, urged herself to stay calm. Getting mad at you would do no good for neither her nor the situation at hand.

"Y/N, we've got more pressing matters at hand than petty conversations," she explained in her most patient tone of voice, that of a spent, tired kindergarten teacher at her wit's end after a whole day of looking after screaming brats.

"I haven't thought of it in a while," you told her. "I feel like, if I don't tell you now, I never will."

"Is it important?"

"Very."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. She eyed you for a bit, scanned for deception. Finding none, she breathed out and said, "Fine. But be quick. We've got to deal with this curse as soon as possible, before something terrible happens."

Something worse than Sam professing his undying love for her.

You nodded in agreement. "You know how I knew Crowley before I knew you?"

"Yes," Rowena said. You'd known her son for years before she showed up and practically stole your heart. One look from her, and you were done. It was meant to be.

"I always had the hots for him," you admitted, a tad apologetic.

Rowena cringed. She'd seen the way you'd looked at Fergus; it was the same way you were looking at her ever since you'd first laid eyes on her. Not something she liked to think about often.

"He was a dick, but he was charming. His accent was hot," you continued.

"The point?" Rowena demanded, truly, genuinely not interested in reasons you'd found her son attractive. That familiar, disgusted knot twisted in her stomach, making her feel lightheaded. All she'd heard from the boys had taken its toll on her; your admissions weren't making the situation any better.

"Well, um, you see, back then, I kinda had this thought," you said, a bit shy. "It was more of a fantasy, really. Of you and me and… him. Together." A blush crept up to your cheeks. "A threesome. It was really hot."

Rowena's jaw all but dropped to the floor.

"Do you think it was wrong?" you asked her. "I know he was your son, but he wasn't in his real body, so you technically weren't blood related at the time. I felt guilty for fantasizing about it, and thinking of it like that made me feel a bit better."

It was very, very, very, very wrong.

More wrong than any and every other wrong in the world.

You should have felt guilty.

Forever.

And ever.

You should have wallowed in guilt.

And, most important of all, you should have kept it to yourself.

Why hadn't you kept it to yourself?

Why share it with her now? Why tell her when you knew — you bloody knew — it would do nothing but gross her out? Why do that to her?

Were you cursed as well?

But that was impossible — you weren't anywhere near the witch. Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Jack had gone to confront her on their own. You were at the Bunker the entire time. There was no way she could have cursed you.

Unless…

Oh, dear.

Of course! Of bloody course!

She should have known. She should have figured it out right away. It was blatantly obvious, now that she thought about it.

It wasn't the Winchesters, their angels, and you that were cursed.

It was Rowena.

She wanted to smack herself for her stupidity.

How did she not notice? It was right there, all but smacking her in the face. Upon their return, the boys were laughing amongst each other. Having fun. Joking around. They would've have been in such spirits had they been forced to tell one another their deepest thoughts and desires. They would have taken notice of it. They would have approached her and asked her for help.

She was a bloody idiot!

"Oh, god!" you said in a whiny voice after a few moments of uncomfortable, suffocating silence. "You hate me! You think I'm gross, don't you? You think I'm terrible. I'm a terrible girlfriend!"

As disgusted as she was, Rowena couldn't hold back a pang of pain that ripped through her heart like a cold, iron dagger. She brought her hands to your cheeks, cupped them with utmost tenderness, and said in that soft tone of voice she always used to calm you down, "No, darling. You are not terrible."

"I am," you said, tears spilling down your cheeks. Your hands fell over hers, warm, slick with sweat. "I imagined those things. And enjoyed them."

Rowena's stomach twisted. She swallowed, keeping the unease at bay. "It's not your fault, dearest. It's the curse."

You frowned, confused. "Sam and Dean's curse?"

"Actually, I think I am the one who is cursed."

"But you were home."

"She tried to curse me earlier, remember?"

You gave a small nod.

"She must have done something to activate the curse before she died," she elaborated.

"Shouldn't the curse be gone with her?" you asked.

"In most cases, yes," Rowena said, "but this lass was powerful. She had to have done something…" She let the sentence trail off, lost in thought. How had she done it? A spell?

"Think she threw a hex bag or something at the boys?" you asked.

She looked at you as if you'd just proclaimed her the proud owner of a million-dollar villa, complete with servants and a personal masseur. "I think that is exactly what she did! My smart girl!"

Your cheeks flushed at the praise. "Is this curse dangerous? Are you gonna be okay?" you asked, looking her over in concern.

"Aye," Rowena said. "It's more… _unpleasant_ than dangerous."

"People telling you gross things?"

"People telling me their secrets," she corrected. Not that there was much difference between the two.

Your face fell. "I'm really sorry."

"I told you, it's not your fault," she told you. "We never have to discuss it again." She hoped you never would. She wanted to forget about everything she'd heard tonight as much as her mind allowed. "Okay?"

"Okay," you said with a nod. "I love you."

She didn't need a curse to know this was the absolute truth. Still, a part of her warmed up at hearing it now, amidst all the chaos. Your feelings for her were genuine. Always had been, and always would be. Her heart swelled with warmth at the confirmation.

"And I love you," Rowena told you, just as genuinely. A bit of discomfort and irritation couldn't make it go away. "I must go find the hex bag now. You stay here. Best to avoid other possible… confessions."

"Okay," you said. "Guess now is not a good time to tell you I've been jealous of Sam for a while now?"

"It really isn't," she confirmed, and you sighed. _"That_ we will discuss later."

In all honesty, she'd kind of suspected it. There was more than mere protectiveness to your complaints and eye-rolls every time the younger Winchester would call her for help, or invite her over for dinner, or stand closer than three feet away from her.

Finding out Sam was into her wouldn't make matters any better.

A part of her wanted to keep it to herself, but she knew she couldn't. She had to tell you. You had a right to know. And besides, especially now that she knew you were jealous, she wanted to assure you that there would never, ever be anything between her and the hunter. She loved him as a friend, but that was it. She would tell him that, and she would tell you, as well. It was only fair.

The two of you were the most important people in her life. She owed it to you both to be honest, for once in her long, long life.

Rowena hurried down the hall, ignoring Castiel peeking out his room once again and saying something so loudly she had to will her own thoughts to get louder to mute him out of her brain. Sam was still working on dinner; she deducted that after catching a whiff of the meal he was preparing, now spreading all throughout the Bunker. Her stomach grumbled once again in response to the aroma. She was hungry. She was tired. She was done with everything. All she wanted to do was eat, take a long, hot shower to wash away all the filth she'd heard today (it felt like it still clung to her skin like sticky glue), plop down on the bed, and never wake up again. Or maybe wake up in about twelve hours. She hadn't yet made a concrete decision on that.

How was she supposed to find the hex bag? Where was she supposed to look?

 _Think, Rowena! Think,_ she told herself. She was a smart girl. She could figure this out.

When the boys returned from their little mission, did they carry any bags?

No, she remembered. There were no bags. None of their own, and they hadn't taken any from the witch.

They hadn't taken anything from the witch. No grimoires, no strange artifacts that looked as if they might be cursed. Nothing that could hide a hex bag.

Then…

What if the hex bag was _on_ them?

It was a possibility. Those boys always wore their big jackets and flannel, a minefield of large, spacious pockets. Walking fashion disasters, they were. Full of spaces for hex bags to be tucked into.

How could she gain access to them? She couldn't frisk them as if it were the most normal thing in the world. She wasn't sure if she could tell them; for all she knew, the bearer of the hex bag might be influenced to act protective, even violent, of it, and the last thing she wanted was a confrontation. Flirting wouldn't be of much help, either. Not even Sam, apparently hopelessly in love with her, would fall for it. He knew how much she loved you. They all knew it; knew that she would never do anything to endanger your relationship, that she would never hurt you.

She would have to improvise.

She would do so with the brothers. A much lower risk than an angel and a nephilim, in case things turned sour.

Which brother, though?

Rowena didn't particularly care about Dean's confusing sexuality, and she definitely didn't want to face Sam anytime soon, inevitable as it was.

But then, Sam was her favorite Winchester. Her friend. And Dean had started spilling his secrets first, seemingly out of nowhere. Sam hadn't done that, which made her like him a lot more than his brother at the moment.

Wait a minute…

Dean was first.

He had opened his big, Neanderthal mouth first.

He had started this chain of events.

It was him. He had the hex bag.

It had to be him!

Grinning triumphantly at her conclusion, Rowena headed for the library. Much to her relief, the Winchester she was seeking was still there. There was an old hardcover book in his hands that looked strangely like an encyclopedia on human sexuality (not that Rowena cared. As soon as she saw the picture of what looked like two naked bodies on the cover, she averted her eyes. Dean was not her choice of nudity-viewing partner, not even if said nudity was scientific).

As soon as she walked in, he shut the book closed and shoved it back on the shelf. Swift as a startled rabbit, he turned to face her with a smile that wouldn't have fooled even the dumbest of the dumb. And you had the audacity to tell _her_ she was a horrible liar.

"Give me your jacket," Rowena said, straight to the point.

"Why?" Dean asked.

"I need it. I'm cold," she lied.

He scowled, suspicious. "I'm sure you got your own jacket."

"Yours is thicker."

"I think you're lying to me."

"Give me the bloody jacket, Dean!" she demanded.

"Not until you tell me what the hell's going on."

She was going to have to do it the hard way, then. "Give me the jacket, or I will tell everyone about Dr. Sexy."

He gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"Would I?" She gave him a stare, pointed, sharp as a knife, letting him know she was serious. She needed that jacket, and she would do whatever was necessary to acquire it.

Dean stared back for a few moments, pondering on it. Then, with a mutter of, "Bitch," he started to remove his jacket.

"Been called worse, dear," Rowena said sweetly.

"I warned Sam about you," he said. "Told him you shouldn't be trusted, but he wouldn't listen. He thinks he can save you."

"Och, I don't need saving," she told him.

"That's what I said, but my brother — he's persistent." Dean scoffed. "He once called you his friend. I think he's delusional."

"Do you now?"

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I do think you can be redeemed, but redemption doesn't make someone a good person. And it definitely doesn't make them trustworthy."

Rowena would have been offended if she hadn't had suspicions of her own about Dean's true feelings about her. His little confession only confirmed them.

Oh, well. What could she do? She couldn't please everyone.

Besides, Dean was nothing to her. She owed him nothing. No friendship, no trust, no loyalty. All of that was for his brother. She cared about him, but she cared about Sam more.

Dean's dislike of her was his problem.

"The sentiment is mutual," Rowena said, taking the jacket from him. She rummaged through the pockets, until finally, in the left one, she felt something soft underneath her fingertips. Wrapping her fingers around it, she pulled it out with a triumphant, "Aha!"

Clutched in her hand was a small, brown hex bag.

Dean's eyes widened. "What the hell is that?"

 _"That_ is the cause of all this… unpleasantness.," Rowena told him.

Then she threw the hex bag on the ground and, with a single word of Latin, lit it on fire.

And just like that, the curse of truth was no more, its only remnants a small pile of ashes on the floor and the fog of awkwardness as the realization of what they'd done — what they'd said straight to Rowena's face — dawned on each individual with the intensity of a moving train.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


End file.
